


2 Tickets, Please

by wrothmothking



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Snowbarry Spot April Minibang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrothmothking/pseuds/wrothmothking
Summary: “I don't remember anything,” Barry says. It's a lie.Prompt: Let's get lost together.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Caitlin Snow, implied Barry Allen/Iris West
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	2 Tickets, Please

“I don't remember anything,” Barry says, and the room loses that pervasive chill of despair as everyone sighs in relief.

Everyone, except Caitlin. Another Barry, torn asunder by an eternity spent trapped in the Speedforce, his own self the engineer behind his destruction. A faithful ally to the worst part of her. He could've been Him again, broken and hers.

Joe clears his throat beside her, and Caitlin dismisses the thought with no little shame, pasting a pretty smile on her face. Killer Frost may still be a second persona, but the poison from being her for so long, from being _happy_ as her, has infected every part of Caitlin. Sometimes, she forgets to care.

Killer Frost had loved Savitar. The memory of their shared kiss has warmed her heart on many lonely nights, and the memory of her betrayal has invaded her nightmares just as often. Saving Cisco she won't regret, but being the deciding factor in Savitar's death may never sit well with her, even with all he'd done and failed to do.

It's only with the hope of his return dashed that she realizes she'd harbored it at all. How did she fool herself into thinking she was here for her friend? Caitlin Snow loves Barry Allen. When did that become secondary? The moment the timeline was restored, or when Savitar revealed himself? Because he _was_ Barry, just a Barry made specially for her. The first person she didn't have to fear hurting as Killer Frost.

Barry smiles at her, and the dark rage always bubbling beneath her surface falls to a simmer. The vague, looming worry they wouldn't be able to reach him dissipates like morning mist. She agrees to rejoin the team, surprised at the offer despite knowing Cisco's undying devotion to her as his best friend. Maybe she can move on by going a step backwards, find home among these familiar faces.

And then their hero is exposed as a liar.

Exaggerated startle response is the most obvious clue. A sudden sound, an unexpected movement sends him across the room, so panicked he once runs head-on into a wall. Being the last to leave and first to arrive escalates into him sleeping at the cortex. Iris fiddles with her ring, but never takes it off, and snaps at anyone who comments on Barry's carefully measured distance from her—and everyone else. The jokes taper off during fights over one day, like he was going to pretend quickly lost the capacity to care. They come back later in the week with thrice the bitter edge anyone with sufficient trauma bears. Sleep deprivation lines his face. Caitlin examines him, Cisco badgers him, Harry needles, Joe hovers, and Iris watches with teary eyes. Nothing gets better; Barry never talks. He performs as a CSI, he performs as the Flash. A month passes, and Joe's tentative calls for the healing powers of distance and peace feel hollow to the lot of them.

This isn't the first time Barry's broken, but it used to be he'd pick _someone_ to talk to.

And then he does: her.

Amunet is losing patience. Caitlin's first, shameful instinct is to flee; the other meta's abilities may be glacially slow compared to the speedster she's faced, but unlike Barry she'll have no qualms against killing her in a surprise attack. There'll be nowhere safe from her in the city, no neutral zone for Killer Frost to earn her name.

Her bag's packed, her plane ticket purchased.

And Barry's whimpering in his sleep, at the mercy of some horrible nightmare.

Caitlin goes to him without the ghost of a thought to rationalize the risk she's placing them both in by staying, all her worries evaporating from her mind as she comes to a stop at the head of his cot.

He's shaking, his mouth twitching into a frown. She misses him; he needs her.

His hair is greasy from sweat and too long without a shower, but she doesn't mind. It's a closeness that exiles the demons torturing him in dreams, a fragile intimacy that has her eyes flashing white even as a sweetly anguished smile tugs at their lips. She really has missed him.

Barry stirs. His eyes flutter open, and she retracts her hand, still smiling.

“Caitlin?” he whispers, voice too hoarse from a long, fraught sleep to rise higher.

“Hey, Barr. I'm sorry to wake you, but you were having a nightmare. Do you remember?”

“Maybe...”

“It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I just hope you will, one day.”

Unthinking, she brushes a wayward strand out of his face. Barry gasps, and she flinches away, flushing-

Barry's hand snaps closed around her wrist, her fingers still caught in his hair.

“Barry?”

Reluctantly, he releases her, sitting up to break the contact when she doesn't move.

Silence loiters between them, passively oppressive. Sat up, scowling, Barry looks his indomitable self again, the moment of weakness passed, never to be spoken of. But still Caitlin lingers at his bedside, fiddling with her bracelets, trying to find the magic turn of phrase that will let him open up to her.

“I thought you didn't want to be touched?” she asks, cautiously easing herself down by his legs.

“I don't,” he says, but neither does he protest or retreat, his warmth soaking into her back through the thin sheet. Minus that, the admission itself is progress; until now, he'd dodged such questions, communicating his new boundaries via guilty glares and liberal use of super speed.

She presses for more: “Does it hurt you?”

“Why would it hurt me?”

“I don't know, but I have my theories, and I _do_ know what pain looks like on you, Mister Allen.”

“What...What theories?” Barry hedges, something desperate and heartbreaking peeking out before he ducks his head, hiding, if not yet retreating.

“Are you sure you're ready to talk about it?”

Barry scoffs. An unsteady smile pastes itself across his face as he leans back against the headboard, body language purposely open. But no acting attempt can alone hide the bruising under his eyes or the ragged quality of his breath. Caitlin shelves her concern for now, trusting that his physical health will bounce back to normal as soon as his mind gives it a chance.

“Barry, what does it feel like, when people touch you?”

“Like getting stabbed with hot needles. Like my skin's too tight, and my head's too small, and there's nothing inside me, just an angry void. A black hole trying to rip through me and eat everything else, and I'm terrified, and I can't breathe or think or make sense of anything going on around me. And I'm lonely. I'm so lonely, but I _can't_.”

“Overstimulation.”

“What?”

“You were alone, for who knows how long, in the Speedforce prison. People touching you, talking to you, it's overwhelming your senses because you're no longer used to it. Brushing shoulders is suddenly a lot for you to process, so, a hug, or even a high-five, crashes the system,” Caitlin explains.

“Can you fix it?”

A shake of the head, and Barry's hopeful expression crumbles. “The only solution is exposure therapy. It'll be like strengthening a muscle.”

“Yeah, I didn't do that. Lightning gave me abs, remember?”

Caitlin snorts. Not the least intimidating prognosis, yet here he was, doing his best to brighten both their spirits.

“Why do you feel different?”

The question pulls her up short. She never stopped being aware of the leg pressed to her back, but now it is all she feels. A contact he has continued to allow with no sign of discomfort despite the unveiled sensory issue.

“What do you mean?”

“You-you don't feel hot, or loud. Just cold.”

“Barry...”

“I thought you said she wasn't a problem anymore?”

“She isn't,” Caitlin assures. Then, with the honesty she's denied them: “ _Usually_.”

After Barry's had a moment to digest that, Caitlin asks, heart in her throat, “Is the cold burning you?”

“No! No, no, no.”

Barry's hand drops on her thigh, one thin skirt barring him from a rather private area. Caitlin's face warms, but she resists reading any _intentions_ into the action.

“It feels soothing, _healing_. Like putting your legs in a brook on a hot, summer day.”

What a romantic perspective.

“I'm glad. Bodily contact is a human need.” But she's leaving.

Caitlin bites her lip, cradles the wayward hand in her own. Barry's breath stutters on an exhale, but she doesn't retreat.

“Okay. So! No cure, but we can make a treatment plan. You should probably wear more clothes: heavy layers, limited bear skin. We're going to have to find a baseline-”

She stops. Barry's face is scrunched up in clear dislike.

“What is it?”

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm running out of time to sleep before my shift.”

Tomorrow.

Her plane leaves in an hour.

“Of course! Yeah, tomorrow. I'll just, um...”

Caitlin goes to leave, halting in her tracks when she hears footsteps behind her. Turning, she finds Barry well within her personal bubble, frowning, eyes wet.

“Right!” Caitlin squeaks, pulling him down into a hug. “You're going to need all the affection I can give until you're comfortable with other people.”

She keeps holding him as tears and snot make a mess of her blouse. That he'd denied himself after realizing he could touch her makes her want to be cross with him, but she can't summon the anger. The rage is gone.

“You need to stop punishing yourself.”

“They _hate_ me. They-they think I hate them!”

“No one hates you,” she murmurs, petting his head. “They may not know everything, but they know enough. They'll be here, every step of the way.”

Barry sniffles. “I don't want them to be.”

“Not even Iris?”

“We're not—it's not what I thought it would be. She doesn't know what to do with me. She can't handle me broken.”

“Not all burdens are for two.”

Defending their relationship comes easy. Caitlin Snow loves Barry Allen, but Barry Allen loves Iris West. It's a truth she's shouldered for a year.

“I feel like it should be,” Barry confesses in whisper.

Caitlin sighs, tightens the embrace. “I'm sorry.”

It's quiet for a while, so long Barry's snuffles ease into something uninjured, so long Caitlin has to shuffle her weight on sore feet.

“I just want to be someone else for a while.”

_Oh._

“I actually have an idea for that.”


End file.
